


A Lap-Dance is so Much Better (When the Stripper is Crying)

by jatty



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray—and his ambiguously named friend ‘John’—force a depressed Frank to go the strip club downtown after he’s been broken up with. It’s a shame no one would listen to him when he insisted that this wasn’t just a strip club—it was a whore house. And no, he did not appreciate the lap-dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lap-Dance is so Much Better (When the Stripper is Crying)

**Author's Note:**

> Title belongs to the Bloodhound Gang.
> 
> I wrote this about a year ago, finished it, and never posted it. I thought I would share it since it was useless to let it rot away on my laptop. Not my favorite, but enjoy regardless.

Frank was seething as Ray dragged him down the street to the nauseatingly named strip club “The Cuddled Cloth.” It was the second Friday of the month which meant it was exclusively male strippers—because Frank _apparently_ needed a lap-dance because he couldn’t get a real boyfriend. And Frank was apparently Ray and his new friend’s entertainment for the night. 

Ray was as gay as a right-wing, conservative Christian, and his new friend ‘John,’ was engaged to be married to some woman in New York. So Frank was the only one who could ‘benefit’ from the show.

But “The Cuddled Cloth” was the most disgusting strip joint in the entire _country._ Frank was sure of it. He’d been there once before with his ex-boyfriend. The strippers looked underfed, half of them were high on coke or something worse, and more often than not customers were seen paying the manager twenties and fifties and going upstairs with the dancers.

The last thing Frank wanted was a lap-dance from a diseased crack-whore…but Ray wasn’t letting him go. He was going to be forced to be entertained…

Frank groaned loudly as Ray pulled him through the front door of The Cuddled Cloth. The show had already begun, and the music was pulsating through the building and the sidewalk. Men were hollering and cheering as some over-weight guy stripped off a faux-leather vest.

Ray and ‘John’ pulled Frank over to a table along the left side of the stage. Frank did his best to ignore and fight off the flamboyant waiter who wanted to know what he wanted to drink—a beer? A screwdriver? Some whiskey?

Ray and John both got vodka shots ‘to get them through the night’ and Frank laid his head down onto the greasy table. Two songs boomed by before Frank finally let a buzzed Ray talk him into lifting his head. Frank glanced at the stage, just to see if there was anyone semi-attractive on stage that he could pretend wasn’t a drug-addicted prostitute.

Instead of seeing something attractive, he saw some guy in a sheer, pink costume and a sparkling feather boa bent over the right side of the stage, some drunken customer shoving a roll of money in a place it really didn’t belong while the stripper squeaked in pain. 

Frank frowned and looked away. It was worse than a low-budget porno…but the stripper had an almost handsome face. He probably would’ve looked better if he weren’t under a bright orange light, grimacing in pain, and sobbing as some guy shoved a roll of cash _up his ass._

A song blasted by, and then another one started. Frank, bored with looking at Ray and watching this John guy get wasted, glanced back at the stage. The stripper—or was he a cross dresser?—in the see-through pink sleeves and too-tight satin panties was doing some sort of dance. It was something like a female stripper would do, but…vaguely masculine. His legs never once went around the pole, but he grinded against it a few fair times.

Frank watched him with pity, but he believed that Ray and John thought it was amusement. Frank could tell that the stripper was trying hard, but not quite able, to disconnect from the club. He was staring at the door, his mouth open and pink lips shining with spit and lip gloss. He was raking his fingers through his hair and shaking his hips at the howling men in the crowd…his feather boa sliding down, down, down and down from his shoulders to the floor of the stage.

Its light fall somehow broke the stripper’s weak concentration and he stopped dancing to look down at the garment. He started to kneel down to pick it up, but a harsh bark from a man at the back of the stage—the manager—made him rethink his approach and he bent over in a nauseating display to pick up the boa. 

As he was starting to straighten up, his eyes swept the audience of the left side of the club. He looked straight through Frank, but his face went into a grimace again as someone started calling him. Frank didn’t realize until the stripper started walking toward him—after looking to his manager for approval of course—that it had been Ray and John who’d called him over.

“Shit,” Frank hissed as the stripper stumbled down from the stage and reached the table he shared with Asshole and Asshole’s new best friend. 

“Hey!” A drunken John slurred. “My friend just got dumped—how about you cheer him up?” The stripper looked at Ray who shook his head and pointed towards Frank. Frank growled at him and tried to talk John out of sticking forty dollars down the front of the stripper’s panties. 

It was too late though, the stripper was already forcing a strut over to Frank’s seat. He took his boa off and threw it around Frank’s shoulders before straddling Frank’s hips.

“No,” Frank tried to scream over the music, gesturing his hands to tell the stripper to go away—go back over to the guy who shoved a wad of cash in his ass. “No—not necessary!”

But the stripper wasn’t listening, he was fisting his hands in his hair again and rolling his hips against Frank’s in time with the music. Frank turned his face away to give Ray the most vicious look he could muster with a garment made of feathers draped around his neck. As he turned back to the stripper, prepared to tell him again to take the money and go away, he caught the man’s eyes. Instantly, the stripper burst into tears and started sobbing. 

Frank shot Ray another death glare, and _finally_ the stupid idiot realized what he’d done.

Frank tried to tell the stripper to stop again, but he assumed the guy couldn’t hear him over the music and his own sobs. The song blasting over the speakers seemed to be endless, and so was Frank’s torture. Every few seconds the man would drop his hands from his hair to wipe the tears from his eyes or off his cheeks.

He’d rather have the fat guy in leather over the crying boy with the feather boa. He tried to pretend that _maybe_ this was some kind of fetish thing—like a ‘naughty night gone wrong’ kind of deal, but the desperation in the stripper’s tears was too tangible. 

Finally, the grinding came to a halt when the song ended and the manager at the back of the stage whistled like a man calling for a dog. The stripper stood up, pulled his boa back onto his own shoulders, and made a show of lifting his legs so that they were both on the same side of Frank’s seat. 

The sobbing dancer stumbled back to the backstage room, part of his boa dragging on the floor behind him somehow sadly. Frank shot a look at Ray who lowered his gaze to the table. A deep thud drew Frank’s attention back to the back of the stage where he saw the manager standing and the stripper down on the floor holding the side of the his face as if he’d been struck.

Frank felt a gasp get caught in his throat and shook his head in disgust. He hated himself for being in this club, he hated himself for supporting the club by even showing his _face_ in it. 

Backstage, the stripper was kicked by another dancer making his way onto the stage as the next song erupted. The manager ignored the violent exchange, and didn’t give the stripper sitting on the floor sobbing into his hands any attention. Frank watched the man cry and throw his boa away from his shoulders in plain sight of everyone in the club, including Ray and his asshole friend John who was grimacing.

Frank tried to focus on the new dancers, but couldn’t get his mind off of the man sobbing just off stage. And he couldn’t help but wish death upon the stripper that had kicked _his_ dancer while he was still on the ground.

“Fuck,” Frank growled. He just accepted the stripper as _his._ He was now no better than a regular pervert, picking favorites… So hard he tried to convince himself that the guy was crying because he was high, or going through withdrawal…anything to keep from feeling bad for him. “Fuuuck,” Frank groaned when the club’s hours reached their end and the dancers were all trying to score tips or a trip upstairs. “Son of a—” Frank’s words turned into a scream as the teary-eyed, red-faced stripper started making his way towards Frank’s table. “This is _your_ fault,” he hissed at Ray under his breath just before the stripper reached his table.

“Hey,” the guy said, his voice nasally and yet still raw from crying. “Hey—you,” The stripper said again, more forceful. “You, uh…you goin’ home? You?” Frank stood up from his seat when the stripper ran a finger down his chest and looked at Ray with pure hatred.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “I’m going home.”

“Why don’t you stick around, hm?” The stripper tried, his red eyes looking frantic as he darted a glance over his shoulder at the club’s manager who was watching him like a hawk. “You don’t want to drive home drunk.”

“I didn’t drive, and I didn’t drink,” Frank said, straightening his coat and backing a step away from the prostitute. 

“Oh…” The stripper looked around quickly as if scouting for another client. Everyone else had filed away or had been taken by another dancer. “You and I had a little moment earlier,” the stripper pressed, running a finger down Frank’s chest again.

“Yeah—that was my _idiot_ friend’s idea,” Frank said, pushing the stripper’s hand away. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh,” the stripper murmured. “Um…” He looked over his shoulder at the manager of the club who tapped his wrist watch and then shrugged. The stripper shuddered and immediately grabbed Frank’s hand. “You don’t want to come upstairs?”

Frank looked over the stripper’s shoulder at the manager. The man looked like the pimp from Hell…Frank hated himself as soon as he felt the pity take over him. This pimp had hit the stripper so hard he fell over…let a customer shove a roll of cash up the dancer’s ass…made the man give lap-dances when he was in tears… Who knew what he’d do to the prostitute if he didn’t reel in a more _generous_ customer. 

“I don’t want to go upstairs,” Frank said. “You got an apartment nearby I can…walk you to?” 

“I can…check,” the stripper said, tugging at the sleeves of his see-through outfit.

“I’ll wait by the door,” Frank said, walking away and slapping Ray on the back of the head aggressively as he went. The stripper walked back to his manager and the two spoke softly. “I want to _kill_ you,” Frank hissed at his ex-best friend and his deranged friend John.

“Why?” John asked. “You’re getting laid.” Frank turned around to see the stripper creeping back over to him, blinking his eyes rapidly as if fighting tears.

“If…If you wait,” the prostitute began, “I can go upstairs and get my…clothes.”

“Or you can leave like that,” John said before bursting out in laughter. Frank turned around and pulled back his fist, making to punch the asshole if not kill him.

“I’m gonna get dressed,” the stripper said, literally running away towards the staircase behind the stage.

“You mother _fucker,_ ” Frank hissed. John ducked and laughed it off—his drunkenness making him think that this was all a joke. Frank waited by the door, trying not to kill Ray and trying to talk himself out of stalking and killing John later.

Frank almost didn’t recognize the stripper when he reappeared, dressed in all black. His pants were too tight, almost like the satin panties that he no doubt had in the little paper bag that he was holding in his hands. He was wearing a black button down shirt and tightly-fitted black vest. The guy would’ve looked sophisticated if it weren’t for the smears of black eye-liner and mascara, and the black dog collar that was tight around his throat. 

“Um…It’s…” The stripper looked over his shoulder at his manager who gestured for him to disappear, and then scanned the faces of Ray and John. 

“Let’s go,” Frank said, grabbing the strippers hand and pulling him out the club’s front door. “You two, stay the fuck away from me,” he said to Ray and John.

“I live—I live that way,” the stripper pleaded as Frank dragged him down the sidewalk. 

“Fine,” Frank grumbled, holding the man’s hand too tightly. It wasn’t that he was afraid the prostitute would run away, he just felt like this guy was his anchor to the earth. He changed directions after crossing the street and ducked down the first side street he could find so he wouldn’t have to see Ray or John again. 

“It’s fifty for the whole night!” the prostitute called out. “I can’t take less—please!” The man wailed as Frank dragged him through the city.

“Yeah, I’ll pay you,” Frank groaned. He slowed to a walk when the prostitute started resisting him in order to guide him in the right direction. “How much do you owe your pimp?”

“About six hundred,” the man muttered, walking at Frank’s side. Frank looked at him in time to see the tears start falling again. 

“How’d you get that much debt?” Frank asked. The man wiped his nose on the back of his free hand and shook his head.

“Couldn’t pay rent—he gave me a loan.” The man sniffed loudly and shook his head, sweaty hair sticking to his face.

“In return you have to strip at his club?” 

“I give him all the money I get in tips…he gives me my paycheck…” Frank understood. It was a never ending cycle. He would never make enough money to pay his own rent. He’d always be a slave of the club. 

The man was still crying silently when he let Frank into the six-story apartment building. He kept rubbing his eyes and smearing his makeup, but Frank was still impressed with how _gorgeous_ he was in the light. He didn’t belong in a strip club, he was too attractive to waste his time as a prostitute…

He led Frank up the stairs to floor no. 5 and they continued down a narrow hallway. Music could be heard blasting from someone’s stereo, another tenant’s television was blaring an action movie, some couple was fighting. The stripper put his keys in the door and looked at Frank nervously before twisting the knob.

“So…do you want me on the c-couch, or…” Frank opened his mouth to say that he was willing to pay the fifty dollars, but he wasn’t really in the mood for sex. However, the man’s deep sobs broke his concentration. “I’m sorry,” the stripper sobbed, taking his hands off the door and covering his face quickly. “I’m sorry—I’ll stop. Really, I will.”

“It’s fine,” Frank said. “I’m going to pay you, but I’m not sleeping with you.” The prostitute stared at him with wide, wet eyes and continued to whimper for a moment before opening the door and showing Frank inside.

“Then…who is?” He asked, scanning his own apartment as if expecting someone else to be inside.

“No one, I guess,” Frank said, shrugging and looking the place over. It was messy, but not deplorable. There were clothes everywhere and empty cans on every surface. “I saw that guy hit you and I wanted to make sure you didn’t have to stay there.” The stripper raised his hand to his cheek and caressed it softly. “My stupid friend and his idiot friend thought it’d be a good idea to drag me out to a strip club because—”

“—because your boyfriend broke up with you,” the stripper said, guiding Frank inside. “I remember. Your friend told me when he paid me…” He closed and locked the door, only the deadbolt and not the chain, and quickly started picking up the trash.

“Do you cry on every guy you dance with, Richard Shaker, or was that just for me?” Frank asked, watching the man clean.

“Richard…Shaker?”

“You know…stripper name. Richard Shaker— _Dick_ Shaker for short.” Frank felt like an idiot when the stripper didn’t laugh.

“No, I’m Love Way.”

“ _Love_ Way?” The stripper shrugged. 

“I didn’t pick it…he did,” he mumbled, going over to the trashcan in the kitchen-esque portion of the apartment. It looked to be a three room apartment—a living room/kitchen, a bedroom around the corner with a small bathroom the size of a closet inside it. 

“Do you want to sit on the couch?” The stripper asked. “I think I’ve got…some soda in the fridge.”

“No,” Frank said, “I’m fine.” He eyed the couch suspiciously, wondering how many men the prostitute had fucked on it.

“It’s not dirty,” the stripper said. “I usually don’t have to bring men home. Do you…want soda?”

“Can I get a Coke or something-- _a_ Coke, not _coke_ coke…”

“I’m not…addicted,” the stripper said, twisting the little bag of clothes in his hand. “I don’t use anymore. But, yeah—I’ve got Coke.” The stripper stared at him and walked towards his fridge with caution. It was like he expected to be attacked…

“Okay, Love Way, thanks for the Coke.” Frank offered the other man a smile and then rolled his eyes as soon as his back was turned to grab the soda.

“It’s Gerard, by the way,” the stripper said from inside the fridge. 

“Cool,” Frank said. “I like you better as Gerard—I like anything but the boa.” Gerard returned to the room and handed Frank the soda. When he popped the tab, the man looked away and seemed to shrink.

“I like my boa,” Gerard mumbled. “It’s the only part of my outfit you can’t _see through._ ”

“Why don’t you quit and get a real job? Where you wear real clothes? Because these clothes are nice,” he said, gesturing to Gerard’s black outfit.

“I don’t have enough money to get another job. I can’t even miss a day of work. I need the tips to pay my debt and nowhere else tips that high.” Frank watched the man play with his bag of clothes while sipping his soda and sighed. “Will I get a tip?” Gerard asked, looking at Frank and chewing his lower lip.

Frank rolled his eyes and grabbed for his wallet after setting his soda away on the floor. He found the fifty dollars he owed the prostitute and threw the bills in his direction.

“No,” he said. “There’s what I owe you.” The man stared at him and then couched to pick up the money off of the floor on his hands and knees. He slowly put the money in his pocket, looking up at Frank again and sniffing back more tears.

“So…on the couch?” The prostitute asked, chewing his lip again and fondling the button of his vest. 

“No!” Frank yelled. “I’m not fucking you!” The prostitute backed away from the couch, still on his knees. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard mumbled, swallowing hard and standing up shakily, moving as if terrified and quickly putting as much space as possible between himself and Frank.

Frank sighed and tried to keep his anger at Ray out of his mind. It wasn’t Gerard’s fault that Frank’s boyfriend broke up with him, it wasn’t Gerard’s fault that Ray and his buddy ‘John’ had forced him to go to the worst strip club on planet Earth, and it wasn’t Gerard’s fault that Frank didn’t want to be known as the friend who’d gone home with a prostitute from The Cuddled Cloth.

“Yeah, maybe I should go,” Frank said, taking a drink from his soda and then rubbing his forehead dismally. 

“Okay,” the prostitute said, backing away farther. “I’m sorry for…I’m just sorry,” he said, his eyes wide in fear. He had nothing to be sorry for, but he was apologizing anyway. 

“I’m not gonna jump you,” Frank said. “Sorry I snapped, it’s just…I didn’t want to go to a strip club—I didn’t want a lap-dance, I didn’t want a hooker.”

“And I’m sorry,” Gerard said, swallowing hard and pressing his back against the wall and shuddering as soon as his back hit it. “I shouldn’t have pushed—I should’ve gone to the other guy who wanted me. You just looked so much nicer and I really—.”

“Who was the other guy?” Frank asked, breaking off the stripper’s rant.

“Well…I don’t know, but he put eighty dollars in my back pocket.” Frank’s lip curled in disgust. ‘Love Way’ chose him over the guy who’d literally bent him over the stage and shoved a roll of cash up his ass… “He would’ve tipped.”

“And you would’ve cried the whole time,” Frank said. Gerard shrugged, and straightened himself against the wall.

“I’d rather cry than find myself enjoying it…” Frank stared at him for a minute and then continued to drink his soda. 

“How did you even end up in that place?” He asked, knowing it was out-of-turn to ask but letting the curiosity take hold of him. Gerard sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

“It’s a…long story.”

“Well, I paid for the whole night so get talking.” The man whimpered and Frank quirked his eyebrow.

“I don’t really want to,” Gerard muttered. “How do you _think_ I got here?”

“Well…either a) you ran away from home, b) you got kidnapped, or c) you were in debt before your pimp started paying your rent. So, which is it?” Gerard stared at him in silence and then shook his head.

“All three I guess,” he whispered. “Except, my dad kind of gave me no other choice but to leave, so I more or less got thrown out. I didn’t have money for an apartment and I had this friend who told me he’d take me somewhere where I could get help and…I met my manager. Spent three years strung out on crack, decided to get over myself and actually try to get away from this lifestyle but…”

“But you can’t get out,” Frank said quietly. Gerard shook his head and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

“I tried so hard,” Gerard mumbled, tears starting to fall from his eyes again. “And I know, I _know_ that I’m next on his list.”

“What list?” Frank asked. Gerard bit his lower and lip and shook his head.

“I lose him money…what do you do with things that make you lose money and give you nothing in return?” Frank stared at him and narrowed his eyes.

“Fire them?” Frank suggested. Gerard forced out a weak laugh through his tears and wiped his cheeks with the heels of his hands. 

“Something like that,” the stripper said. “I won’t even make the papers when they find me in the trash.”

“He’s going to kill you?” Frank asked. It was a stupid question because he already knew that that was how it was going to end for most of the dancers at the low-budget clubs. Either needy customers killed their favorite performers in order to keep them to themselves, or sadistic managers disposed of their weakest links. 

“Probably,” Gerard sobbed, unable to hide his despair. “And who would care? No one would even notice!—I’m going to die, I can’t get customers and I’m gonna die!” Gerard covered his face and began sobbing as he slowly slid down the wall to his floor. “He’s going to kill me,” he cried desperately. “I don’t want to die—I don’t want to die…”

Frank got up from the couch and crept over to the man on the floor. He felt bad for him, he felt helpless and guilty. He wished there was something he could do, but even associating with this man would have him put on that manager’s hit list. He wanted to help, but he _would_ be missed if he were killed. He felt guilty for being so selfish, but he didn’t want to die either. Self-preservation came before humanitarianism. 

Frank sat down beside the man and placed a delicate hand on his shoulder. 

“You can’t just run away? There’s nowhere you can go?”

“I could try but…where would I hide? Honestly?” The stripper lifted his head and shook his bangs off of his cheeks. “If I ran and they caught me, I’d be dead—and if I did get away, I’d be on the streets again. So it’s…murder or starvation. Murder might be faster.”

“Do you need a place to stay?” Frank asked, like a fucking moron. Gerard went rigid and swallowed hard. “Because…if you just disappear…they’ll get someone else and you won’t matter to them.”

“They’ll look for me…I can’t live in fear.”

“You already do,” Frank said. “Just…trash your apartment and make it look like someone took you.”

“I…” Gerard stared at him and Frank mentally ran through his finances. Could he really afford a stow-away right now? No…but Ray could chip in, and so could his asshole friend John. This was all their fault, anyway. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he had the images of this beautiful man buried in a dumpster or wrapped up in the trunk of a car.

“Get some stuff,” Frank said. “I’ll take you home with me.” Gerard shook his head quickly. “Come on,” Frank insisted. “I know a place that will hire you legally.”

“I…I can’t,” Gerard said. “They’ll come after me.”

“No they won’t,” Frank said. “Just leave all the valuable things you have and disappear. They’ll get money out of it and save them the trouble of disposing of you. Come on.” Frank stood up and grabbed Gerard’s wrist, pulling him up with him. “You’ll be okay.”

Gerard stared at him, mouth slightly open and cheeks soaked with tears. His eyes were dull, not a spark in them.

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head. “I can’t…You need to leave,” he said, eyes darting around frantically. 

“Why?” Frank asked, not understanding how this guy could let himself remain in such an unsafe place when salvation was offered. 

“I can’t leave,” Gerard said, looking at him desperately. “Just…go. Please. I can’t…”

“You can get out of this place,” Frank said, searching the stripper’s face. “Let me get you out of here.”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t. Please go. I’m sorry…”

“Are you sure?” Frank asked, looking the man over and fixing him with a gaze of concern. 

“Yes,” Gerard answered, looking away and closing his eyes slowly. “Please…leave.” 

“Okay,” Frank said quietly, stepping towards the door reluctantly. “Do you…Will you at least take my number? So if you change your mind, you can call?”

“No,” Gerard’s said quickly, his eyes lit by fear. “I can’t—please. I’m not even supposed to take men home.”

“You don’t need to live like this,” Frank pleaded, stepping back from the door.

“Go!” Gerard shouted, staring at Frank and shaking his head. “Leave!”

“Gerard, don’t—”

“Please, just go! He’ll follow me! He’ll find me—he’ll kill me!”

“He’s already going to kill you,” Frank argued. “Get out of this mess—just come with me!”

“No… I can’t,” Gerard repeated, shaking his head slowly.

“Gerard…do you really want to stay here?” Frank asked softly. “You _can_ leave this.”

“I’m not going with you,” Gerard said, stepping away from Frank. “Please leave.”

“Fine,” Frank said softly, grasping the doorknob and holding his breath as he stepped out into the hallway. As soon as he moved, Gerard hurried towards him and slammed the door back shut, locking Frank out in the hallway with the men in the lean black suits.

“’Sup, man?” One of the men drawled. Frank stared at him, taking in his height, dark skin, and intimidating tattoos. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses like he were some sort of mobster and Frank wanted nothing more than sprint down the hall.

“It’s…a good night,” Frank said, clicking his tongue and gesturing towards the door. 

“Leave a tip?” The second man asked. He, too, hid his eyes with sunglasses, but he wasn’t quite as tall as his partner.

“Um…”

“Wanna leave one with us?” The taller man asked, raising one of his eyebrows and fixing Frank with a curious gaze.

“You gonna wanna keep walkin’,” the second man said. Frank’s heart turned to ice when the man opened his jacket and exposed the handle of a gun. “You didn’t hear nothin’…”

“Right,” Frank said, swallowing hard and stepping away from the two men.

Maybe it was a good thing Gerard didn’t follow him. 

“You didn’t hear nothin’,” the man repeated as Frank walked away quickly, his hands deep in his pockets as he feared for his own life. They were there to shoot Gerard, what would stop them from putting a bullet in his back as well?

But the men didn’t fire their weapons at him, and he didn’t keep walking. Frank stopped in the stairwell and climbed up a floor to the fifth story just to wait for the men to leave so they wouldn’t corner him on the street. 

Even though he didn’t hear the gunshots, he still heard some woman scream.

“Oh, my god, he jumped! Somebody jumped out the window!”


End file.
